


Don't Think Twice

by spockandawe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, First Time, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gift Exchange, Hermaphroditic Trolls, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Pale-Red Vacillation, Troll Rose, Trollstuck, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you meet Rrhose Lalonde for the first time, you are completely and utterly intimidated. In reading through her game walkthrough, your imagination ran wild, but in retrospect, your past dreams of what she might be like fell terribly short. Which is silly. Very silly. You spent hours watching her through your husktop, and you spoke to her far more often than any of the players from the other gaming session. You’ve seen her with a bucket on her head, for goodness sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Think Twice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illusionistfelix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusionistfelix/gifts).



                When you meet Rrhose Lalonde for the first time, you are completely and utterly intimidated. In reading through her game walkthrough, your imagination ran wild, but in retrospect, your past dreams of what she might be like fell terribly short. Which is silly. Very silly. You spent hours watching her through your husktop, and you spoke to her far more often than any of the trolls from the other gaming session. You’ve seen her with a _bucket_ on her head, for goodness sake.

                But she’s floating next to you in her god tier robes, hovering just a few inches off the ground, with the light from the green sun filtering softly through her wings, and you are more tongue-tied than you have been in your whole life. She’s a good head taller than you, and her horns curve up into elegant points. Her earfins flick and swivel at every noise, and what was annoying on Eridan and distracting on Feferi becomes nothing less than hypnotic when she’s doing it.

                You don’t say much at first. And when Rrhose does begin talking to you, you manage to sound _almost_ as articulate as a new-hatched wiggler. Bravo. And ah yes, you are still glowing. Without any idea of how to stop, or whether you can stop. Yes, you needed another thing to make you self-conscious. It is reassuring to realize that Rrhose is the one engaging with you. You aren’t putting yourself forward when you aren’t wanted, she _does_ want you to be here. Of course, that’s its own flavor of terrifying when you’re more than half certain you’re making a fool of yourself.

                You do flush when Terezi says that you all are usually cooler than this. You can’t in good conscience agree. And even Terezi doesn’t agree with herself. Well. Rrhose is smiling, but not in an unkind way. And you and she do exchange a mutual mortified look when Karkat is hit in the face with a bucket. You aren’t sure _what_ Jhohnn and Jhayde could have been thinking, and you don’t want to ask her outright, but… It is rather satisfying to not be on the receiving end of all the embarrassment.

                And in the end, once the meteor is on the way, despite how many of your friends have died—including you, you suppose—And the way Gamzee just… _Gamzee_. You find it in yourself to ask Rrhose whether she might like to retire together. That’s not true. What comes out of your mouth is more along the lines of asking her whether she knows what a pile is. Dear lord. Sweeps of learning to communicate like a real troll, all for nothing.

                Rrhose bows her head all mocking-solemn, and holds a straight face for a few breaths before she smiles wide and genuine, and tells her she’d love to see your pile. You… don’t actually _have_ a pile, now that you have time to think through what you just offered, but you lead her back to your rooms, and decaptchalogue your finest bolts of cloth for her. She adds an assortment of purple velvet pillows, then sinks elegantly down to sit on the pile, and offers you a hand.

                It’s so easy to take that hand, to let her guide you down next to her. You feel stiff and graceless and unbearably clumsy, but she doesn’t do anything to make you more uneasy. You are just an impressively awkward person. It’s easy to take her hand, it’s easy to let her guide you down. It’s just as easy to let your head rest on her shoulder. And it’s just as easy to simply… talk.

                There is rather more to talk about than you had thought. You ask her about what you missed from her game session of course. But you were there and able to observe a great deal of her session, and it isn’t long before the conversation turns to your game and your players. There is a great deal to describe. You end up working almost backwards, explaining the people she’s just met, explaining how you all reached this point, explaining how you all reached the _previous_ points—She has some idea of what’s going on, of course, she is a seer. But it’s different to see something and to experience something, and she doesn’t seem bored or uninterested. You are increasingly sure that Rrhose Lalonde is the kind of person who will never run out of questions.

                Some parts are… difficult to talk about. You’re furious at yourself over what happened with Eridan, you absolutely blame yourself for what happened to the Matriorb, you should have made more of an effort to explore your denizen’s offer, there is just so much that you personally have done wrong. But of all things, it’s describing how you made Vriska’s dress that finally makes you cry.

                Rrhose pulls you down so your head is in her lap, and you bury your face in her stomach and just bawl. It is completely humiliating, and you wouldn’t be able to stop for love or money. She just strokes your cheek and hair, her hands all soft and cool, and murmurs little nothings and lets you stain her clothes. When she runs her fingers carefully up and over the curve of your horn, you shudder all over and curl up tight around her.

                Eventually, you run out of tears. And oh, there it is, the peak point of embarrassment. But even once you collect yourself enough to lift your head, Rrhose doesn’t shift away. You thought—When you spoke to her at first, if anything, you would have sworn she was pitch for you. But the way she’s smiling at you, all gentle and tender with her hands still so soothing against your face, you only want to roll over for her and bare all your most vulnerable parts and _trust_ her.

                Of course, at this point, you are in no position to be trusting your own judgment. For all you know, you’ve just taken horrible advantage of someone— _perhaps_ a friend— who was platonically curious about your life. You look down at your hands as if they have suddenly become _incredibly_ fascinating and try think things through. It doesn’t help that you have a pounding headache. But you only manage a few moments of brooding before Rrhose takes your face, turns it upward, and drops a careful kiss on your forehead, gentle as anything and pale as bone.

                And then she pulls back and the expression on her face is so dismayed that for a moment you have no idea what is happening. She blushes purple, and decaptchalogues a small mirror and hands it to you. You—Well. There is a very clear, very dark, lip-shaped stain on your forehead. You can’t help laughing, even though it comes out all weak and watery. Rrhose laughs too and you can feel her relax against you. You can’t fight the urge to stretch up and kiss her on the cheek—Then she kisses you on the nose and you kiss her on the chin, and by the time both of you are done you look like complete messes and are wrapped tightly around each other, and you’d probably be happy if you never had to move.

                You do eventually move enough to get Rrhose’s head in _your_ lap. You have ablution supplies and cloths in your sylladex, and it’s the least you can do for her after how she listened to you. You make casual conversation as you clean off the lipstick stains. And—Well, you work slowly. You don’t want to finish too soon. Can you really be blamed for wanting to savor these early moment with your new moirail?

                As casual as the conversation is, you can hardly miss the way she reacts when you ask about her lusus. She goes from unguarded relaxation to snapping with nervous tension in moments, no matter how hard she tries not to show it. You don’t push too hard, you think that would be unkind. But what kind of moirail would you be if you ignored it? Instead you circle indirectly to it, edging closer and closer when you can. What was she like as a wriggler, does she have any interesting stories from when she was young. Your lusus used to do this infuriating thing, did hers ever do anything like that?

                It’s hard enough to get her talking about it that you are completely surprised by the flood of words that ultimately springs forth. Her face has been clean for some time and you’ve just been running the cloth over and over her face while she smiles and leans into your touch. When she starts crying you captchalogue the cloth and just touch her. She cries so angrily, with her eyes squeezed shut and her hands clenched in fists. It comes out disjointed, all jagged and ugly, bits and pieces of stories that all run into each other. And she can’t stop coming back around to the fact that her mother is gone and she never got to say goodbye. Your mother was always there for you, and you knew that her death was coming. You aren’t in a position to… _understand_ neglect, the way Terezi or Gamzee might, but you can still hold her close and comb your fingers through her hair while she talks.

                It’s exhausting. For both of you. It was hard enough when you were pouring your bloodpusher out to her, and you’re sure it isn’t any easier for her to do the same, with all of this so fresh and painful. You still feel as clumsy and awkward as ever trying to take care of Rrhose, but she leans into you like she can’t notice how inadequate you are and cries herself out. You stroke her face and horns until she falls asleep tucked up against you, with your chin nestled between her horns.

                And when the two of you wake up the next night, still wrapped around each other, it feels so perfectly natural. You’ve always been reluctant to throw around the term ‘serendipity,’ but—No, it’s still too early. Especially since your initial feelings when you first spoke to here were far closer to spades than diamonds. But it’s hard to imagine that the two of you weren’t meant for _some_ quadrant together. Especially when she lets you drink blood from her wrist, lying back and lazily watching you with a half-smile, her fangs just peeking out over her lower lip, you can’t help imagining that the two of you have always been meant for each other. She laughs and tells you that she’s always had a fascination with the bright creatures of the daytime, and you feel that much less self-conscious about the way your skin glows.

                It stays natural. It’s so comfortable, you and her, it’s so easy to talk to her about anything, all the time. And it’s just as easy to listen to her, even inane, pointless conversations like finding all the little differences between her universe’s Alternia and yours. Those first emotional talks… aren’t the last, of course. And it stays painful, because you shouldn’t expect a single conversation to make everything better, or two, or three. But time smooths the edges off the way it hurts, and speaking to her, emotional outpourings over the course of days and weeks, you can feel the pain fade. The more often she reassures you that you aren’t personally to blame for everything going wrong, the more you’re able to believe her. You hope you are doing her the same service when you tell her that her that yes, her lusus must have loved her.

                In essence, you believe you never had such need of a moirail as you did when you met Rrhose, and she was in the same position, and the two of you fell together so perfectly that you want to believe you were hatched for each other. And without ever showing a single sign of resentment, she lets you drink from her wrist whenever you need to. Even once you stop needing to talk through your ugliest emotions together every time you end up alone, you never stop enjoying that time spent together. Weeks turn into perigees, and you find the two of you spend nearly every free moment together. You feel a little bad that you don’t give enough time to Karkat and Terezi, and you suspect Rrhose may feel similarly guilty about Dayvve, but you can’t even imagine how you’d begin disentangling yourself from her at this point.

                Those feelings of (entirely pleasurable) entanglement remain, which makes it a little difficult when you realize that perhaps… you aren’t feeling terribly _pale_ for her anymore. That epiphany makes you feel beyond awful. You’ve never stopped wanting to hold and touch and kiss her, but the more you look into your own motivations, the less you are able to believe that you want to be her moirail. You’re angry at yourself, first. Because this is the same self-serving quadrant manipulation that Eridan tried to use on Feferi, and even if you try to say that you’re different, _you_ tried to do the same to _Vriska_. And would you just look at how well that went. It was cruel to her and painful for you, and now you’re doing it to Rrhose. And the worst of it is that you can’t even take your problems to Rrhose.

                You end up taking your moirallegiance problems to Karkat, which is wonderful and cathartic… and simultaneously utterly despicable, because not only are you _using_ Rrhose when your intentions are on an entirely different quadrant than the one you’re in, but this talk with Karkat verges dangerously close to pale cheating. He has his own troubles with Gamzee, and you do your best to help him, even though your opinion remains that he’s better than Gamzee ever deserved. And his advice to you effectively boils down to… talk to Rrhose. Yes _,_ _but_ —

                He ignores all of your protestations and tells you that this will only get more difficult with time, and that it’s better to be as upfront as possible. You honestly can’t disagree, it’s just going to be so difficult, and you feel like the worst moirail to ever crawl forth from the hatching caverns. So you don’t frighten yourself out of it, you go to her right away. You only drag your heels a little making your way through the halls to her room.

                When you find her, she’s sprawled out and lovely, napping on her pile of pillows and books. She wakes and stretches at the sound of the door closing behind you, smiling and reaching out a hand. You don’t take it. Your hands are busy, plucking at your skirt, smoothing away non-existent wrinkles. You don’t know where to look—But you absolutely can’t look at her. From the corner if your eye, you can see her slowly pull her hand back and frown.

                “Kanaya, is something wrong? Come talk to me.”

                You shake your head. The words won’t come when you try to speak, but you take a few deep breaths. You have to do this, she’s worth it, even if this means she’s about to break up with you. You force out, “You, you shouldn’t ask me that. Because that’s so pale, and you’re the best moirail, you really are. And Rrhose, I keep thinking about you in ways that aren’t really pale at all—”

                Too awkward, too blunt, and this is why you never have trusted yourself to communicate anything important. You’d better savor these last few moments of being quadranted to her. But Rrhose holds out her hand to you again, and when you dare to sneak a look at her face, she’s smiling, and her fins are spread wide and interested. You take her hand, and as she guides you down, it reminds you so much of that first time, that uncertainty and wanting something desperately without knowing what you’re getting yourself into.

                Rrhose brushes a stray piece of hair back from your face. You still can’t look her in the face. “You’ve been worrying over this, haven’t you.” You nod. She hums and combs her fingers through your hair a few more times. “I wondered. You see though, asking you what was wrong would have been perfectly in line with a feelings jam, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Because, you see, lately my feelings have been something rather closer to _flushed—”_

                Your head jerks up and you stare. She flushes a beautiful purple, her lips are spreading into a slow smile, and you’re having trouble believing that those were the actual words she said to you. You realize you’re smiling so wide your cheeks ache, and she’s still looking at you like she values you, not like you’ve disappointed her and she wants nothing more to do with you. You’re so happy you don’t know what to do with yourself.

                After a few moments, Rrhose leans in for a quick, glancing kiss across your lips and then rolls over to lie against the pillows and tilts her head back. “I believe it’s been a few days since you fed?”

                You’re struck breathless. When you move over her and pause, inches away from the soft, vulnerable skin of neck, your hands are only shaking a _little_. Though from this close, you can see her shiver as you breathe against her skin. One of her hands strokes soothingly along your side as the other one comes to rest at the back of your neck. You shut your eyes and bite her.

                It’s always glorious, the rich, ever-so-slightly salty taste of her blood. And it has been days. You’ve been… avoiding her, you must confess. Because you were using her in ways she didn’t deserve, so you stayed away—But she’s been wanting you in the same way you’ve been wanting her, and it’s been so long and you’re _so hungry._ Your lips press against her skin as you take greedy drinks. You have one hand cradling her cheek to steady her, and you’d almost worry that you were being too rough except that her hands are rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin.

                When she drops her hands to toy with the hem of your shirt, you stop worrying altogether. As it happens, a new quadrant together doesn’t magically erase perigees of being comfortable with each other as moirails. You’re perfectly at ease as she eases your shirt up your waist and over your shoulders—Even though it means you have to break away from her neck. You sit there over her for a moment, catch your breath, and any uncertainty over whether this is what you really want is swept away by the feeling of _rightness_. You want her hands on you like this. You want her naked, you want to be naked for her. You want her _bulge_.

                Well, from here you can at least get your hands on her tunic. And once you’re both topless, well. There are all kinds of interesting things to do with your hands, aren’t there. Rrhose seems to be enjoying your vestigial chest nubs (especially the way you can’t help jumping when she does _this_ thing, or touches them in _that_ way). But you retaliate by bending down to her gills.

                Gills isn’t quite accurate. Rrhose tells you that she’s not violet enough to breathe underwater. But despite that, hmm, they do seem to be _quite_ sensitive. Rrhose is making all sorts of interesting noises when you simply touch them, but when you’re daring enough to lick one and your fang brushes against her opercula? She gasps and _writhes_. You’re afraid for a moment that you might have gone too far, but Rrhose takes you by the shoulders and pulls you up into a kiss. It’s messy, off-center, and the furthest thing from pale. It’s absolutely perfect.

                You could kiss her forever, just feeling the light sting of her teeth where she gently bites your lips (or returning the favor, taking her lip in your fangs and play-snarling until you can’t hold back the laughter, and dive into the kiss again). You’ve been close to her since the night she arrived on the meteor, but you’ve never felt closer than this, when you’re buried in each other, breaking apart only to breathe, laugh, and kiss again. More than anything, she just makes you unbearably _happy_.

                However, you are becoming increasingly aware that your bulge is in the process of ruining your skirt. Based on the way you can feel Rrhose moving against your leg, you believe she is in a similar predicament. Hm. Perhaps taking off _only_ your shirts was a mistake. Reluctantly, you break away to stand and undo your waistband. Rrhose watches, dazed, for a moment before she grins wide and reaches down to her leggings. But as soon as you step out of your skirt, you kneel to stop her. Instead, you take care of it, moving then down her legs an inch at a time, leaving kisses the whole way.

                Once that’s finally done, Rrhose is propped up on her elbows, just watching you, and as you look up at her she flushes violet and spreads her legs wide. You’re struck again by how beautiful she is and how little you deserve her, but there is nothing in the universe that could induce you to give this up. You begin to move up over her, but—You never got to finish feeding. Should you?

                You let her bulge tangle around your fingers and hold it off to the side. You drop one more kiss on the inside of Rrhose’s thigh, let your fangs press against her skin, and ask, “May I?” She shivers, shuts her eyes, and nods.

                When you bite down, the noises she makes are so high and sweet. Before, you were so hungry that you couldn’t take your time, but now you just take slow, lazy pulls of blood. Rrhose’s hands tangle in your hair, and you’d almost expect her to pull you away, but she holds you where you are, gasping your name as you drink.

                Once you finally pull away, all she can say is, “Please, Kanaya— _Please_ —”

                You’re hardly any less desperate. Your bulge thrashes between your legs as you try to arrange yourself, Rrhose’s legs tight around your waist. Her bulge finds your nook first. She’s very, _very_ tall—And her bulge is proportional. You gasp and collapse onto her at the force of her entry, but when she starts almost panicking that she’s hurt you, you manage to find the words to reassure her that if she stops now you will _not be happy_. The two of you hold onto each other as her bulge slowly spreads you open, further and further. You almost wouldn’t notice when your bulge enters her, except for the way it makes her throw her head back as she calls your name.

                You’re almost be embarrassed at how little you manage to last before you finish, but Rrhose is the one to push the two of you upright, and decaptchalogue a bucket (and a few other things first, you honestly don’t blame her, you’d have an impossible time managing a sylladex like this). By the time the bucket clatters to the ground, she has her arms wrapped desperately around you, with her face buried in your shoulder. You barely manage to get the bucket between your legs before she finishes with a sob, shaking against you. The feeling of her material flooding your nook is enough to send you over the edge, and the two of you cling to each other as the bucket fills.

                Eventually, you disentangle yourself enough to move to bucket where it _won’t_ be accidentally knocked over. And that’s all you manage. After that, it’s too easy to bury yourself in Rrhose’s arms again, to press yourself up against her thorax and just listen to the beat of her pump biscuit. The two of you end up lying in the pile again, but not with any intention of doing so. It would be more accurately to say there was a controlled fall that happened to be in the direction of a nice cozy pile. Honestly, you probably would have done the same on the bare floor. As it is, the two of you are perfectly situated, and to be honest, all you want to do at the moment is sleep.

                But before you drift off, you collect yourself enough to ask, “Matesprits?”

                Rrhose pulls back and bends to kiss you once on the lips, soft and flush. “Matesprits.”

                You sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/109242291476/dont-think-twice-spockandawe-homestuck)


End file.
